


In Distress

by mabonwitch



Series: OT7 Pack [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Fear, Feral Behavior, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Medical Examination, Multi, Natasha is fucking scary, OT7, Other, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabonwitch/pseuds/mabonwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alphas go haywire when someone in their pack gets hurt. Bruce knows this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Distress

Alphas go haywire when someone in their pack gets hurt. Bruce knows this. And Clint has been Natasha's pack a lot longer than the rest of him.

It doesn't particularly help. 

Slowly, forcing his breathing to stay deep, Bruce crawls carefully across the floor, pushing his med kit in front of him. He can smell Clint's blood, see the way his chest is gashed open. Natasha's clinging to him, pupils blown wide, growling under her breath. The whole scene will make him throw up if he thinks about it, so he makes himself not-think. 

"It's OK," Tony says in his ear, the comm link a novel experience, "you're OK, Brucie, you've got this."

Bruce does not have this. Bruce in no way shape or form has this. This, crawling toward an enraged alpha that snarled and warned off Tony, their packmate, just minutes ago, is a horrible fucking idea. If Phil were here, this would be his job. He'd probably order Natasha to calm down as he crawled, fuck. Actually, if Phil were here, instead of some terrifyingly classified mission in Bulgaria, Clint wouldn't have ended up unconscious and badly wounded. (Probably.)

Natasha growls louder for a moment. Bruce freezes and doesn't quite manage to hold in the whimper. Sweat breaks out all over his skin. He hates this. The Hulk is right under his skin and it is only the thought that Clint could bleed out and die if he doesn't get medical help soon that keeps Bruce in control and he moves another shuffling slide forward.

"It's OK, you're OK."

"Bruce." It's the first time Steve has said anything since asking if Bruce is sure he's willing to go on. "You're right on the edge of where she can smell. So now she's getting the idea that you might be in danger, too, that there's still a threat. She just wants to protect you."

Bruce almost snorts. He's done a lot of reading since he was a child. He knows what normal alphas and normal omegas and normal betas do, how they react in general. He also knows that none of them are normal. He doesn't even know if he smells like a normal omega, after everything that was done to him. (He's afraid to ask.) So, yes, Natasha could be non-verbally telling him to come closer so she could keep him safe. 

Or not.

It's the "or not" bit he has trouble with. 

"Can you get a few steps closer? Just a few. Three steps, and then we'll stop and re-evaluate."

Bruce nods, knows JARVIS will catch it. Knowing his fear is irrational does not actually help. Steve's patronizing attitude, however grounded in good intentions, doesn't help. As though Bruce hasn't been made to do this a hundred times, doesn't know the steps to placating angry alphas better than any of them. He takes the few steps necessary and stops. 

Tony's voice in his ear helps. A little. He shuffles forward a few more steps. The pitch of Natasha's growling changes again, interrupted by querying grumbles. It's clearly directed at Bruce. He comes closer and closer, keeping his eyes down and his body language loose. The anger melts out of Natasha's scent, being replaced by worry. By the time he is even with the couch Natasha dragged Clint to, Bruce convinces himself it is safe enough to kneel back. Natasha quiets. 

Slowly, so much more slowly than he knows she can move, Natasha reaches a hand out to Bruce. He blows a breath out and tilts his head into it. She strokes through his hair, and there is another one of those querying noises. She smells safer. His skin is still damp with fear-sweat. 

"Okay," he says, because he has to. Time is more likely to kill Clint than anything at this point. "Okay, we're going to be fine." He keeps up a steady patter, eyes down and neck bared, as he opens the med kit. "Can you put Clint's respiration and heart rate on the wall, please, JARVIS?" 

Bruce winces. It's not good. Natasha doesn't react, too far gone to process that Bruce has basically just invited another person into the room or that there is now important information somewhere she can't see it. He's pretty sure he shouldn't give Clint anything with a heart rate that low. He readies a thick wad of gauze and ducks a little away from Natasha.

"Please, alpha, will you hold this for us?"

Bruce doesn't think Natasha's tracking yet, but she takes the gauze from him after a moment. Giving her something to do is a tried and true tactic. He wipes quickly, neatly at the site of the wound. That damn thing's talons had pierced right through Clint's body armor and raked across his chest and abdomen. Thankfully, the lines don't look deep enough to hit anything critical, just deep enough that they haven't stopped bleeding. Actually- he bends close, sniffs. Something smells wrong. Poison? Something biological?

Natasha hasn't stopped him yet, so he dares to get what he needs for a saline wash out. "Hold him still, please." He waits a few seconds and begins. Natasha jerks a little, growls. Clint doesn't react at all. It's worrying. Bruce speeds up, focusing on Clint. It takes three rounds before the wrong smell is gone. Natasha takes a deep sniff and seems to approve. She lets Bruce guide her into holding the gauze pad firmly over the worst of punctures and only grumbles a little when Bruce has to wind long strips around Clint's torso to hold everything in place. When Clint is as doctored as Bruce can get him, he hands up a water bottle to Natasha. She opens it, takes a good sniff, and begins to feed it to Clint. Bruce watches. She's obviously done this before, because she is patient about tipping a sip into Clint's mouth and making sure he swallows before she gives him more. After half the bottle is gone, she starts to stroke Clint's hair and say the occasional word to him in Russian.

If this were a hospital, someone would set up an IV, probably, maybe get some donated blood into Clint. Bruce could maybe figure out how to do that if Natasha were going to allow it, but she isn't. He's not sure how he's so certain. He just is. 

Instead, when Natasha is done feeding an unconscious Clint the bottle of water, she hands it back to Bruce, who sets it on the floor. She puts one hand over the bandages and holds the other out for Bruce. He considers for a long moment. It's not urgent for him to keep her calm anymore. He could move away. 

He shuffles forward so he is next to Natasha, near the arm of the couch. She puts a hand on his head, then his shoulder. The words she says are so quiet he hopes JARVIS doesn't catch them.

No such luck, of course. Over the comms, Tony clears his throat. "She said-"

"I speak Russian, Tony." Bruce closes his eyes.

The team thanks him for his skills regularly.

But it's been a long fucking time since an alpha told him he was a good boy.

It's...nice.


End file.
